


Ecdysis

by krakenhouse



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), Crowley is So Done (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley was Raphael before he fell, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, Fluffy Ending, Good Omens Spoilers, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, PTSD, Post-Armageddon, Post-Canon, Post-Good Omens, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Snake!Crowley - Freeform, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Time Jump, after armageddon, crowley is terrified, gabriel punishes aziraphale, good omens - Freeform, heaven and hell are bad, ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-23 06:56:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20238628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krakenhouse/pseuds/krakenhouse
Summary: The world, post-Armageddon, quickly became Crowley and Aziraphale's favorite place to be. That is, until Crowley's nights become plagued with nightmares. It's always the same one- Aziraphale is fallen, surrounded by hellfire, and Crowley is too late. In order to avoid the nightmares, Crowley begins taking on his serpentine form when he sleeps. Slowly, the mannerisms of the snake seep into Crowley's very soul, and not the adorable, endearing ones Aziraphale treasures. Crowley is violent, easily startled, and not at all himself. He finds it harder to pull himself back into his human form and Aziraphale finds it harder to see the demon he loves behind Crowley's snakelike eyes. One night, after a particularly nasty fight, Crowley wakes and Aziraphale is gone. He can't sense his presence, or anything, anymore. He can't even find the entrances to Heaven or Hell or seem to make any contact with the head offices. He reaches out to every occult force he can think of, breaking pieces of himself in the process. Lost in a world without his angel and blaming himself, Crowley grapples with the fact that in order to save both Aziraphale and himself, he'll have to draw upon a repressed self- one he left behind before Eden.





	Ecdysis

The world, post-Armageddon, Crowley decided, was his favorite place to be. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but he began spending nights at the bookshop. Perhaps it had been a result of his too-long nap on a Tuesday afternoon that overlapped into the dead of night, and resulted in Crowley waking up tucked carefully into Aziraphale’s guest bed with no recollection of having been in that room before. (Or, that room ever existing in the first place). Perhaps it was the night the two of them stayed up talking and drinking until three in the morning and Aziraphale insisted he not go home, because it was dark and stormy and Crowley was too drunk to even miracle it all out of his system. Either way, the apartment had been abandoned in favor of the warm loveseat that sat under the window in Aziraphale’s cozy back room. Crowley would sit there all day long, lanky legs wrapped around the armrest and nose deep in a book. 

Aziraphale was quite floored by this, though he’d never say so. Though Crowley was quite the fan of a lighthearted fantasy novel and an intriguing nonfiction tome chock full of pictures of all of Earth’s creatures, he would never admit it. Regardless, the books he chose to busy himself with when he was at Aziraphale’s place never actually got read. The book was in fact a lovely little ruse that allowed Crowley to tilt his head just so and watch Aziraphale go about his daily business through his dark-framed glasses and his angel would be none the wiser. Of course, there were some mess-ups on his part. 

“How are you liking it?” Aziraphale poked his head around the corner of the doorway, pleased that Crowley had seemed to make it through quite a significant portion of one of Aziraphale’s favorites since he’d opened it early that morning.   
“Oh. Yeah, it’s great,” Crowley mumbled, reddening. “Lovely.”  
“Well? How far have you gotten?” Aziraphale sat himself down on the opposite end of the sofa, clasping his hands in his lap.   
“The...bad guys. They won, the uh, battle,” Crowley was aware it was a stupid answer, he doubted it was a fighting kind of book, if it was something Aziraphale enjoyed. However, he was too busy watching how Aziraphale’s light hair caught the sun rays streaming in from the window.   
Aziraphale chuckled. “Crowley.”   
“Mmm?”  
“You’re reading ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’.”  
Crowley’s face consequently turned bright red, and after stammering for a moment, turned back to the first page and pretended he had not heard him.   
The book was not set down again until mid-evening, at which point Crowley made a point to impress his angel over dinner with his extensive knowledge of plot points and extended metaphors, as well as in-depth analysis of each of the characters. 

The world, according to Aziraphale, was just as good. He’d become less bothered by customers coming into the shop, and even managed to part with some of his beloved books in favor of the smiles on their faces as they left with an excitingly peculiar edition of one of their favorite novels. And things with his favorite demon were at an all time high.   
Quietly, his restraints and worries surrounding his relationship to Crowley were beginning to slip away. It was apparent how close Aziraphale sat next to Crowley on the sofa, the quiet glances shared across the shop or over dinner, and in the quiet offering one evening that Aziraphale gave to Crowley of spending the night in his bed.   
This particular night, it just so happens, was the night before our story truly begins. Crowley, red-faced and stammering, had agreed, and they spent the night in the same room, on the opposite sides of the bed, not touching, save for the knowing looks shared between them and Aziraphale’s sleepy goodnight wishes that made Crowley’s heart melt into a puddle at his feet. 

However, Crowley’s confidence reached an all time peak sometime between lying down in Aziraphale’s bed and when he got up the next morning, and as he pulled himself from the warm clutches of Aziraphale’s plush bed, he felt as if he was walking on air. Having made his way down to the kitchen, Crowley perched himself on the counter next to where the angel was brewing his morning tea. 

“Morning, Crowley,” Aziraphale hummed, not looking up. “You slept well, I take it?” The two’s eyes met, and Aziraphale gave Crowley a small smile.   
“Very,” Crowley returned, his voice slow and warm and full of honey, still raspy and low from a night of disuse.   
“Oh, wonderful,” Aziraphale said, passing the first mug to Crowley, who had taken a deep breath. Aziraphale, who did not notice this, pulled another mug out from the cabinet and began to pour himself a cup.   
Crowley had been waiting for a moment like this for a very long time, and either it was very good judgement on his part of the night’s events, or just dopamine-fueled confidence that convinced him it was high time to do it. Despite his resolve, his body was rigid in anticipation.   
“Angel,” Crowley’s eyes focused hard on the black tea in his cup.   
“Mmm?” Aziraphale hadn’t noticed the demon’s shift in demeanor. He stirred cream into his tea slowly and reverently.   
“I want to take you out to dinner.”  
“Alright then, dear. How’s the Ritz?” Aziraphale was still unfazed.   
Crowley reddened. “No, I want to take you out...” he cleared his throat. “On a date.”  
Aziraphale paused. He set his spoon down against the side of his cup with a tiny clink. “Oh my,” He looked up at Crowley sheepishly, a small rose blush spreading over his cheeks. “I thought you’d never ask.”   
Crowley made a funny noise in the back of his throat. “You thought- You thought I’d never ask?” He practically fell off the counter. “Angel, I’ve been waiting on you. For years, CENTURIES, and you thought...Jesus.” Crowley had, in simple terms, short-circuited.   
Aziraphale chuckled, and resumed stirring. “No, dear boy,” he said, in a tone that was irritatingly calm to Crowley, who was quite honestly losing his shit. “I meant, since Armageddon.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Whaddya mean, ‘since Armageddon’? Was I just ‘sposed to know to make a damn move since the world had gone and almost ended?” Crowley had begun gesturing wildly, and the hot tea in his mug threatened to spill over the edge.   
Aziraphale reddened, flustered, not quite understanding what was so hard to comprehend. “Oh, I don’t know, Crowley! You’ve been staying over here, well, quite a lot, and we’ve had quite a few intoxicated heart-to-hearts, and oh, heavens, I thought I was being perfectly obvious!”   
“Fuck’s sake, angel, I was supposed to read that far into all of that?” Crowley backed up against the counter. Of course, Crowley being Crowley, had read that far into all of the aforementioned things and probably more. But due to previous experiences with this particular oblivious and change-averse angel, he assumed it simply meant Aziraphale was becoming more comfortable with his emotions and would let him know when he was ready. Not whatever the hell this was. 

“I didn’t think it was too terribly far.” Aziraphale huffed, and made to carry his tea and biscuits into the sitting room. Crowley followed after him, close on his heels. After a few attempts to express the fuckton of emotions running through his brain, and a few stammered half-words, Crowley sighed.  
“Well, is that a yes then?” He said, resigned.   
Aziraphale was silent, slowly placing his tray down on the coffee table and plucking a book from a nearby bookcase. Crowley desperately tried to read Aziraphale’s shoulders for a hint of what his answer would be. 

“Of course it is.” Aziraphale turned, lips pursed, but a smile behind his eyes nonetheless.

**Author's Note:**

> This is cute and fluffy!! I'm about to break your hearts. :)  
-KH


End file.
